#suits fandom

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It happened over a bottle of bourbon. A spilled bottle, actually. But a bottle of bourbon nonetheless, and that is important to note.

You didn’t mean to spill the alcohol all over your date, but he had made some comment about how you shouldn't be wearing a dress with a plunging neckline, so you just… happened to tip the entire thing over him.

The man was furious, of course, but he left pretty quickly after that. And you were left with a mess on the floor and a waiter hovering at the side, asking if you wanted another bottle.

You told him no. You just wanted to go home.

You didn't want a new date; you didn't want to sit at this stupid table with the stupid white tablecloth, the stupid, gaudy candlesticks, or the stupid waiter with the stupid, expectant look on his face.

"Miss?"

"No, thank you," you say, a little more firmly, gathering up your things and leaving as much cash as you can on the table. If you were smart, you'd have brought an umbrella, but you're not smart, so you'll just get drenched like an idiot.

But, fortunately for you, the person calling your name knew you well enough to know you weren’t that smart.

Before a drop of water could even hit your hair, a tall, dark figure steps out in front of you and blocks the downpour. Some might consider this a gentlemanly action, but you knew the man, and he was hardly ever gentle.

"You're welcome," Harvey says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You're a pain," you reply, but you're grateful for the cover.

"And you're dateless. So, I see two options: we can have dinner and a drink back at my place, or we can do dinner and a drink back at mine."

You can't help but laugh. "Did you use this on Scottie? I see why she left. That line was bad."

"You're not going to ask how I knew you were here?"

"Nope. You probably had Louis stalk me."

"Don't talk about the puppy like that."

"So you did have him stalk me!"

"I prefer the term 'make sure you were alright,'" Harvey replies, and he holds out his arm to you. "Guy was a douche. Let me buy you dessert to make up for it. And I don’t mean in the biblical sense, although that can be arranged, too, if you'd like."

"Harvey, you’re such—"

You turned to him, ready to tell him exactly what you thought of him, but the words died when you met his eyes. Those same eyes that allured you into taking his offer at Pearson Hardman. The same eyes that made you agree to work with him on the case despite your better judgment.

In a flash, you saw the whole thing: your first meeting, the cases, the laughs, the looks, the touches. And now, the moment.

When you were younger, the term butterflies had never really made sense to you. The idea of feeling them in your stomach seemed ridiculous, and yet, there you were, feeling them for the very first time.

They were all fluttering around inside of you, and all you could think was, "Oh, no."

And as if the universe had heard you, it suddenly stopped raining, and you both stood there in the middle of the street, the moon casting a warm light on your faces.

Harvey noticed it, too, and his expression softened. His usual cockiness was replaced with a gentle concern. "You okay?"

You nodded, biting your lip. "Yeah."

Harvey reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his hand lingering a moment longer than it needed to. He gave you that signature grin and asked, "You look like a velvet cake kind of girl. Am I right?"

He was right.

Goddamnit, he was right.

And as he swaddled you in his coat to keep you warm as you both went back inside, the anger and confusion you felt earlier melted into a quiet, warm glow.

Date night had not gone according to plan, but when his lips met yours and your hands slid through his soft, brown hair, you realized that, perhaps, sometimes, it was good to deviate from the plan.

Mike lounged on the couch, laughter escaping his lips as he watched you frantically search the apartment. "What are you looking for?" he asked, a cloud of smoke escaping his lips.

"Cookies," you replied without even glancing at him, continuing to rummage through the cabinets. After still not finding anything you whine "Mike," your voice full of desperation as you collapse on top of him. "I need cookies," your voice comes out muffled against his chest.

He chuckled, giving you a small head pat before gently pushing you off. Now sprawled on the couch, you watched him closely as he headed to the kitchen. He tried to contain his laughter as he lifted a magazine, revealing the bright blue package. His laughter grew louder as he handed it over. You snatched the package from him, a pout forming on your face. "If your apartment wasn't so messy, I would have found them."

"My apartment, really?" he retorted. You nodded, mouth full of cookies. "Well, if that's how you feel, then give me my cookies." He reached for the box, but you moved away.

"I'll bite you if you try to grab my cookies."

He laughed again. "I shared my weed with you, but you won't share the cookies?" You huffed, moving across the couch with a cookie in hand.

"Open," you demanded, placing the cookie in his mouth before letting your head fall into his lap. You closed your eyes as he ran his fingers through your hair.

"I love you," you murmured, opening your eyes to look up at him. He smiled down at you, a grin spreading across his face.

"Are you talking to me or the cookies?" you giggled, leaning up to press a kiss against his lips.

"I love you both."

You giggled excitedly to yourself when you heard the front door of the apartment open. That meant Harvey was finally home. You hadn't stopped thinking about him since he had to practically drag himself out from between your thighs that morning. Your relationship was new so most of your time spent together was spent naked and in each other's arms.

You heard his keys hit the floor as he rushed down the hall and to the kitchen where he knew he would find you. He knew your routine and at this point in the evening it was time for your second glass of wine. That would have to wait. You gasped as he rushed toward you and grabbed the wine glass and bottle out of your hands. "Harvey give it back," you whined as he set them both down on the countertop behind you.

"No, it has to wait I need you," he mumbled in response. Before you could ask what he meant he was lifting you onto the kitchen island and stepping between your thighs. Your hands gripped the edge of the island as he ripped his jacket from his body and threw it behind him. He was desperate. He was needy. His usual cool demeanor was long gone and nonexistent in the moment. Bad day at work?

"If you don't want this fucking say it. Say it now baby," he ground out. He almost sounded pained. You grabbed the sides of his face, and your heart leapt into your throat when you noticed his pupils were completely blown out with lust. He needed this. You nodded and ground your hips forward into his as your permission.

His left arm slid under your thighs as he lifted you slightly off of the island. He now had access to tear your shorts down your legs. You didn't see where he threw those. You watched in awe as Harvey's hands shook when he finally removed his belt. You shifted forward to slide your hips closer to the edge of the counter. Closer to where Harvey stood frantically trying to undress himself.

In a matter of seconds Harvey leaned forward and crashed his lips into yours while one of his shaking hands pushed his boxers and slacks to his knees. Harvey took one step forward, steadied himself against the counter, and slid his cock into you. His blunt teeth bit down onto your shoulder as he moaned in relief. His once tensed body was slowly relaxing under your touch.

His thrusts were erratic and hard enough to knock the wind from your lungs. One of your hands gripped the counter and the other found his shoulder for stability. He slammed his hips into yours punishingly over, and over, and over again. You whined and arched into Harvey's chest. His arms wrapped tightly around you as his hips began to stutter.

He was losing his rhythm which meant he was close. You began rocking your hips forward into his matching his pace. He grunted in response. "Baby please. Need to feel you cum for me," he whined. His hand reached between your legs to help push you over that edge. He needed your orgasm more than he needed air to breathe. He needed this stress relief, and the closeness with you. But most importantly he needed to feel you squeeze his cock and scream his name.

You kept in time with his pace, thrusting your hips back against his movements. "So close. So fucking close Harvey," you moaned. When that wave finally washed over you Harvey growled and threw his head back.

"Fuck yes baby! Cum for me," he panted. "Come on baby, scream for me," he groaned. "Fuck you're squeezing me so good!" He praised. He was sputtering. He was chasing his own orgasm now. His hips slammed into you, one, two, three more times before Harvey grips your hips with both hands and shouts through his own orgasm.

Your name is a whispered prayer on his lips. His hips tremble and grind against you slowly. Harvey is doing his best to ride out both of your orgasms. You sigh as he slows his hips but doesn't stop. Your arms wrap around his neck, and you whisper your concerns in his ear. "Did you have a bad day baby?"

He nods quickly, elaborating for you, "I've just been so overwhelmed, and I felt so panicked. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I just needed the comfort of your body," he sighed contentedly against your chest.